Heretic of Set

by J. Steven York

  In their haste, they missed it, and had to turn back. When they finally reached the site, it was a disappointment.

  “There’s nothing here but dunes,” said Teferi. “Are you sure?”

  Dejal chanted the spell again. The beam shot downward at a sharp angle, plunging into a large dune in front of them. “I’m sure,” he said.

  “If there is anything here, it’s long buried, and it would take an army of laborers a month to uncover.”

  “This is no less then you deserve,” said Lord Wosret into Anok’s ear.

  When he spun his head, there was no one, only a faint echo of laughter.

  “There must be a way,” said Fallon. “We can’t just give up.”

  “There is a way,” said Dejal. He propped his staff against the saddle of his camel and clasped a small stone figurine that hung from a silver chain. He closed his eyes and began to chant, “Wachun, shepherd god of the shifting sands, move your flock to greener lands and lay bare what once was buried.”

  Anok heard a ringing, though perhaps again not with his ears. For a moment, nothing else seemed to happen.

  Then the wind picked up, swirling around the dune, faster and faster, forming a dust devil. Sand was sucked up into the cone of air, giving it form and substance.

  The wind howled around them, though they seemed at the edge of the whirlwind’s influence.

  The dune began to shrink visibly as sand was siphoned off into the sky. For a time, they saw nothing. Then, a carved granite roof appeared at the top, like a small house or temple. Curiously, it was richly carved with strange fish and seashells.

  As the sand continued to fall, it was apparent this was only a small structure at the top of a gigantic stepped pyramid. Though there were other stepped pyramids in Stygia, this one was unique in that the “step” actually angled down the side of the pyramid, forming a kind of squared spiral that one could use to walk from the lowest level to the structure at the top.

  On the stone next to the ramp was carved a continuous tableau of pictures and writing in some unknown hieroglyphics.

  “I have seen symbols like these,” said Teferi, “on a few of Sabé’s oldest tablets. I do not think even he knows how to read them.”

  The pictures seemed to tell some great story. There were many pictures of boats, coastlines, and something that might have been an island built on the back of a giant turtle.

  “I think,” said Anok, “that this is the story of Atlantis. It starts at the top and winds its way down to the very bottom.”

  “It is the bottom we’ll want,” said Dejal, “from the direction of the light. Perhaps the burial chamber is inside.”

  The base of the pyramid was at last exposed, along with part of a stone courtyard that had surrounded it, and the end of a cobblestone road leading into the sand on the east side.

  As Dejal predicted, there was an entrance to the interior of the pyramid. But it was not hidden, it was a wide tunnel framed by a stone archway, and two large marble statues of fish walking on four scaly legs.

  Fallon looked at where the road vanished into the sand. “There could be a whole city buried out there, just as Sabé said.”

  “We don’t need a city,” said Anok, “we need what is in this temple. I need what is in this temple.”

  They rode down the sandy slope and tied their camels to a stone pillar well away from the entrance to the pyramid.

  Teferi eyed it suspiciously. “If the entrance was ever closed, it’s open now. Perhaps tomb robbers have already stripped it of its treasures.”

  “Remember,” said Anok, “Sabé said there would be guardians. Perhaps this temple needed no door to keep out intruders.”

  “Oh,” said Fallon sarcastically, “that bodes well.”

  The voices buzzed in the back of Anok’s head, and he was in no mood for jokes. “No one forced you to come!”

  He immediately regretted his words, but at times he felt like a passenger in his own body, simply watching what was happening, listening to the words that were said, and having very little to do with either.

  He saw the look of hurt and anger on her face. “I should not have said that. I am not myself.”

  Teferi frowned at him with concern but said nothing. He glanced into the tunnel. “It is dark in there. We will need to light torches.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Anok. He reached into his bag and removed four fist-sized translucent stones.

  “Are those light stones, like the one you once used. What did you call them?”

  “Jewels of the Moon,” said Anok, “and yes. Sabé found them in his storeroom. He said he’s had no use for them for hundreds of years, but they should still serve us today.”

  He pulled out his dagger and drew the edge of the blade across the back of his arm, just enough to break the skin and allow a small bead of blood to rise. He smeared the first stone with a bit of the blood. As he did, it flared to bright white.

  He handed it to Teferi, then smeared the blood on the next one and handed it to Fallon, who took it gingerly, seeming surprisingly squeamish about the blood.

  He smeared a third and offered it to Dejal. Instead, Dejal reached out, swiped his finger across the cut on Anok’s arm, and wiped it on a similar orb inset into the side of his staff.

  “Keep it for yourself,” said Dejal.

  Anok felt his jaw clench as he noticed Dejal sucking his finger clean. “Blood is power,” Ramsa Aál had once told him. Anok considered that he’d probably just made a mistake, giving his enemy power, no matter how small, but it was too late to take it back.

  He shrugged and walked through the archway. “Draw your swords,” he said, pulling one of his own blades, “and follow me.”

  The sword felt strange, almost alien in his hand. His intention to keep in practice sparring with Teferi had given way to his obsession with studying the old texts, and Teferi had taken to sparring with Fallon instead.

  When danger came, he might have to fall back on magic, and he was not sure what even the smallest of spells would do to him now.

  Just lighting the orbs, an act that should have required no magical effort at all, had left him feeling woozy and light-headed.

  He could feel the magic all around them, from every stone of the ancient temple, and it twisted his gut. It made him sick to his stomach, but it also made him hungry somehow.

  It wasn’t he, it was the Mark of Set. But the sensations no longer emanated just from his wrist. He could feel its cold tendrils working their way up his arm, through his shoulder, around his chest, like a claws reaching out to clutch his heart.

  Dejal looked at him, but there was no sign of concern on his face. “Are you unwell, brother?”

  Anok grunted, and he thought he detected a slight smile on Dejal’s face.

  Murderer! Kill him! Kill him! Steal the temple’s power and kill him!

  Anok swatted at the empty air in front of his face. “Shut up!”

  Teferi slid in front of him. “Why don’t you let me go first, Anok.”

  He did not argue, though he felt like a coward for allowing Teferi to do so. He felt weak and useless.

  You have power! Use it! Use it! They only want to steal it from you! Crush them! Crush them all!

  He made a guttural barking noise at the voices, a raw sound of anger. He had to be rid of this curse even if he had to saw off his own arm!

  But he could feel the infection in his chest as well and knew that it was too late for that. Only death could rescue him. Only death, and if Sabé was any indication, even that might be denied him.

  The air that flowed out of the temple as they walked through the entrance was not stale. It was fresh and cold, like a wind blowing through a mountain cave. Anok had the odd feeling that the air was very ancient, though, as if it had been frozen in time, from the moment of Neska’s entombment until the moment they had entered.

  Illuminated in the blue light of the orbs, the revealed walls of the tunnel were covered with carvings of the sea, frozen waves o
f marble, fish, shells, squid, and people who were half human, half fish. Fallon looked at them as they walked along. “We’re in the desert. Why all these sea creatures?”

  “Atlantis,” said Dejal, “was an island, surrounded by the sea. This place is as much a tomb for dead Atlantis as it is for Neska himself.”

  They passed through a doorway into a space so large that their lights could not show them the walls or ceiling.

  Then there was a rumble, a sliding of stone on stone, and a huge stone door dropped smoothly behind them.

  “This,” said Teferi, readying his sword, “cannot be good.”

  Then light flared from the four distant corners of the room. The light came from large orbs much like the Jewels of the Moon, but each was as big as a man’s head, and all were mounted on ornate stone pillars at least twice as high as a man.

  The room revealed was huge, as though most of the pyramid’s interior were hollow. The floor was square, and the ceiling sloped inward to a point far above their heads.

  Of guardians, they saw none. As with the corridor, representations of the sea were everywhere, carvings, painted murals on the walls, and statues. Around the room, stone starfish stood, their bodies raised so that they stood on the tips of their arms, almost as tall as a man.

  One thing dominated the room, a marble platform with an altar, and behind the altar, a huge statue of a nautilus, a squidlike creature with many arms, fierce eyes, and a beautiful spiral shell that protected the rear of its body.

  They looked up at the statue in wonder.

  “Is this,” asked Fallon, “the Atlantean god?”

  Dejal studied the altar. “Perhaps,” he said, “a sacrifice is required before we will be allowed to go on.”

  Teferi looked at him. “Are you volunteering, Dejal?”

  Dejal grimaced.

  There was another scraping of stone on stone, then many. They were coming from all around them. A motion caught Anok’s eye. “The stone starfish! They’re moving!”

  Teferi charged toward the nearest one, sword held high. “We have found the guardians!”

  He brought the blade down, and it struck one of the starfish’s arms, high, near the body. There was a crunch, and the blade sank in only a few inches, dust crumbling from the crack, but the creature kept coming.

  Teferi backpedaled, struck again, his blow unerringly finding the same spot.

  Another crunch, then a cracking noise, and the leg fell off.

  Still the starfish advanced on its remaining four legs.

  Teferi swung again.

  Again.

  Again.

  Another leg fell free, and the starfish toppled over.

  But it did not stop moving. And worse, at the point where the legs had been severed, new ones were forming, small but perfectly formed, growing as they watched.

  Fallon stepped into the fray, nimbly staying clear of the swinging arms, hacking away the limbs until they fell.

  But already, the first starfish that Teferi had crippled was starting to rise, and a dozen more approached them from every corner of the room.

  Worse, hacking at the stone was wearing away at the blades of their swords, grinding the sharpened edges down to nothing. Soon, their weapons would be useless.

  As useless as I am. Anok could only stand and watch. His smaller swords all but useless against their stone foes.

  A starfish caught Teferi unawares, and one of its thick arms touched his sword arm. Instantly it stuck to him, and slowly the thick arm curled around him. Just as it was about to close on him, he roared, and managed to yank his arm free.

  But not without cost. His arm was raw and bloody where the thing had grabbed him. He gasped and shook his arm in pain. “Cursed thing took half my skin off!”

  But it only distracted him a moment, before he was back hacking again.

  Anok looked at Dejal. “They’re wearing them down. Do something!”

  Dejal stared at his staff, seemingly taking inventory of the magical objects attached to it. Then he reached into his pocket and drew out a metal rod as long as his hand. He turned the staff to expose a brass cylinder of about the same length.

  “Listen unnatural fiends, music of destruction, hear now the bell of thunder!” He struck the rod against the brass bell, but there was no small ringing.

  There was thunder.

  Deafening thunder that made Anok grab his ears, that thudded hollow in his chest and made his bones hurt.

  The starfish nearest Teferi shattered into chunks no bigger than a fist.

  Dejal turned to where Fallon was hacking at two of the things.

  Struck the bell.

  Thunder, and they crumbled, one turning to powder as Fallon’s sword struck it.

  Dejal seemed to laugh, though Anok could only hear the ringing in his ear and the ever-present voices in his head.

  He struck the bell. Another temple guardian fell.

  Again, he seemed to laugh.

  Anok saw something at the edge of his vision, turned.

  “Look at him,” said Sheriti. “He thinks he’s winning. This is only the beginning.”

  Then she was gone.

  One by one, the starfish were destroyed, by swords and magic: those that survived were driven back.

  No.

  They were falling back.

  The others seemed to realize it even as Anok did. They stopped their attacks and watched as the starfish scuttled back near the walls and froze in their original positions.

  Dejal held his staff high in triumph. “I beat them!”

  “We beat them,” said Fallon, stepping over to examine Teferi’s injured arm.

  Anok looked warily around the room, feeling the magic there. “No,” he said quietly.

  Dejal’s smile vanished, and he stared at Anok.

  There was a noise. Wet, liquid, and it came from the direction of the altar.

  Anok turned to look at the great statue of the nautilus. It was changing.

  As he watched, the blind, stone eyes became black, wet, and translucent, the dozens of stone tentacles turned into greenish-gray, leathery flesh, and the stone spiral of the shell turned the color and transparency of fine ivory.

  There was a stench in the air, like fish left too long on the dock.

  A hiss of air blasted from the fleshy funnel next to the thing’s head.

  It began to move.

  “Get back,” yelled Anok.

  Tentacles reached for Teferi, and he swung his sword.

  The leather skin was like leather armor. The blade struck with a thud, leaving only a small, bloodless cut.

  Still, the cuts seemed to hurt, as the injured arm drew back.

  Tentacles arched out on either side of the head, reaching down to push against the marble platform. With a rumble, the great shell slid forward a few paces.

  Anok stepped in, just outside what seemed to be the thing’s reach, and hacked at the tentacles with his two swords, hoping he could do some damage near the tips, where they were thinner.

  But again the thing pushed itself forward. The sword was yanked from his left hand, and instantly it was turned and used against him.

  Blade clashed against blade, and he suddenly realized this was no mindless brute that attacked them. Those eyes, each as big as a shield, looked down at him with a murderous, inhuman intelligence.

  Anok swung his blade two-handed, snapping the sword held by the tentacle. The broken weapon was immediately tossed aside, and the creature resumed its original means of attack.

  Anok ducked as a tentacle whipped over his head.

  Teferi cried out as one of the arms wrapped around his ankle and lifted him, upside down, like a stuffed doll.

  Fallon rushed forward, tried to pull him free, and was herself caught around the waist. She cried in pain as the arm cinched tight around her.

  Swords would not stop the thing.

  Magic!

  He turned to Dejal, who just stared at the thing, frozen, by fear or wonder he could not tel
l.

  “Dejal! The thunder!”

  Dejal’s head snapped toward him, like a man awaking from a dream. He swung the metal rod at the bell.

  Thunder!

  The thing flinched, tentacles yanked back away from the pain.

  Thunder!

  Teferi and Fallon were dropped to the floor, where they struggled to rise and get away from the flailing arms.

  Thunder!

  A huge eye looked down at Dejal, filled with hate.

  A tentacle whipped out, so fast it was like lightning answering the thunder.

  Dejal shrieked as the staff was snatched from his hand.

  The tentacle raised it high, then it came down upon the top of the altar.

  Wood shattered to splinters, metal trinkets smashed, stone and crystal broken, the crystal ball at the top smashed to powder.

  A gasp of horror escaped Dejal’s lips as he saw his precious staff, object of so much labor, source of all his power, destroyed before his eyes.

  He stood frozen, even as the great shell slid toward him.

  Again.

  Again.

  Tentacles reached out to crush him.

  Let him die! Anok heard the voice in his head. Let the bastard die!

  The tentacles reached for Dejal’s throat.

  Anok shouted, “No!” He raised his hands, acting on instinct. “Thunder!”

  It came, twice as loud as before.

  The walls shook.

  Dust fell from the ceiling.

  The altar cracked and crumbled.

  The beast drew back, away from Dejal, and he scurried to safety.

  And in that moment, Anok realized he had been wrong.

  The voice in his head just then had not been the Mark of Set.

  It had been his own.

  The Mark had tricked him into saving Seriti’s murderer.

  He felt ice-water tendrils growing in his chest, heard the voices in his head rise up, like a chorus in song.

  The great nautilus turned away from Dejal, who struggled to rise from the floor, toward Teferi and Fallon.

  Anok roared in anger, but the damage was done.

  His friends were still in danger, and thunder would not be enough.

  His mind raced, trying to ignore the voices, the imaginary gnats that buzzed around his head, trying to remember some spell, any spell, that might drop this monstrosity.